Post by Artemis Kaiser on Oct 3, 2020 22:11:20 GMT -5
✬
1-2.
1-2.
1-1-2.
1-2-3-2.
1-2-5-2.
1-6-3-2.
2-3-2.
2-3-2.
1-2.
These boxing motions were rudimentary. The rhythm was engraved in my memory for years, never to leave me again. At this point, it was muscle memory. Any shifts in combination order faded into my subconscious. I wonder why I bothered to start with these combinations. Was it a lack of confidence on my part? I can’t afford to be apprehensive. My opponents will eat me alive.
When was it when I grew complacent with my peaceful life? When did these moments of training become simple exercise? I’ve stopped seeing the heavy bag as my future enemy, but as just a tool. Is this what retirement meant for me? To sit here and gnaw on my fangs to keep them jagged, but not sharp?
The Mother of Monsters.
Have I grown so lethargic that I’ll allow the future to dictate my legacy? I’m content with Blaise Fader being my violent scion. I’m thankful to have the chance to train people personally. My body still moves as it should. My mind still processes the world without any fog. I’m fortunate to have made it out of the sport with my life intact.
Then why am I so agitated?
Will I continue to live this life? Am I ready to admit that I’m lying to myself?
When I signed to participate in Guerrilla Warfare, I hesitated. I told myself that I would go out and have fun. Use this match as a promotional tool for my school. If my students could see my work, then maybe they’ll be inspired. If I win, then they’ll be impressed and chase after my shadow. But is that really worth pursuing after? Is that what I want?
When will it happen--people forgetting their desire to fight me? People like Anastasia will acknowledge as a pipe dream, nothing more. They won’t continue to tease me, to draw me in. I won’t be anyone anymore. I’ll be a legend that’ll die like every other one. I’ll be enlisted in Halls of Fame. I’ll grow old. I’ll be the start of the next generation, and I’ll be spoken of lovingly by the business’s future.
But that’s not what I want.
This training? This elementary dribble. It’s not who I am. It’s not what I need. I can recall the brutality I put myself through. The long nights I stayed up, studying every detail of my opponents, dissecting them to my heart’s desire. I remember the bruises that I would gain. They were the result of trials, where I would tell people to come at me with the intent to injure me. I can still taste the venom in my mouth when I would speak unimaginable things to those who crossed me.
I never wanted to be loved.
I wanted to be feared.
I was the dragon that wandered the land, terrorizing everyone. The scars on my body weren’t gained from simple fights. They were carved into me in violent wars, where I dragged people into the kind of battles that I thrived in. I made people hate. I forced people to respect me. People began to adore me because there was no other option when they couldn’t beat me.
So why am I telling myself to just compete?
Is it because of a useless promise to stay on the sidelines?
What’s one more match? One more war to the veteran who craves in more than anybody else?
It’s a drug.
It’s therapy.
If I reach out to Indi, I’m not far out of reach. The girl bathed in starlight that everyone wants to tear down. Wouldn’t it be lovely to feast on her glory?
There are so many people in this match. So many names that I’ve heard. There is a fair amount that I’ve ever fought before.
They are right there.
Within arm’s length.
Why shouldn’t I destroy them all?
I’m still me, after all.
I’m still Artemis Kaiser.
Right?
Artemis closed her journal, hiding it back inside of her coat pocket. While doing so, she felt the urge to roll up her sleeve and look down at her arm, seeing the scar left years ago. It was the first of many, a reminder of what hate could do. They were carved into her because someone wanted to deface her, brutalize her, or even end her. But they were scars because she survived--no, she conquered. Artemis grimaced at the thought, the words that haunted her existence.
Conquer.
It was a directive implanted into her mind by her father and then her personal demons. It was the only thing she knew how to do. She didn’t know how to love, so she had to learn it. She didn’t care to teach anyone, but now she had a legion of tenacious, little students to train. She couldn’t remember how to die, so that’s what she believed kept her going. Even when her body wanted her to stop, she kept moving forward through spilled blood and broken flesh. The young woman--a fact she often forgot--looked at the heavy bag. She grew tired of hitting it. It was to the point that she could recognize the exact places she struck, highlighting in an imaginary aura.
She felt a pit form in her stomach. It made her want to vomit.
As she moved from the gym floor to her office, her many accolades were the first sight presented. There were the championships, the award trophies, and the photographs immortalizing those feats. Stylistically, weren’t these the staples of the retired trainer, who was devoid of glory?
Artemis rounded the blackwood desk and sat down, staring at the many prospective fighters and wrestlers. On her desk were the different financial statements towards the Monster Factory’s upkeep. Students and fans sent her letters, hoping to get their shot and a key into the business. They littered her desk. On her laptop was the last Boss Fight, sent to her to review Zari’s methods to help better her in her next endeavor. Artemis had stopped the video on the high kick that sealed King’s victory.
Her eyes trickled over to the other tab, where she had Google Drive open. There, she had an assistant gather the past Guerrilla Warfare matches. It was not for research since there was no gameplan walking into the match. It was a spin of the classic big battle royal format. Nevertheless, it was paramount to see how the winners survived. She tilted her head and clicked on the tab, stopping on Dakota’s victory. She grimaced, a bit sullen to see the once-lost man regain traction, while she tolled about in other ventures.
A sub-folder contained everything she needed on her massive field of opponents.
Artemis sighed.
What she needed wasn’t in the folders. She didn’t need film, because she wouldn’t have anything to talk about.
She needed to go back to her roots.
Artemis grabbed her phone, pulled up some contacts, and dialed as many as she cared to bother.
Every conversation began the same and told the person on the other end what Artemis wanted.
“I’m looking to die. Can you help me find the way?”
✬
“With my name appearing on the card, it begs the question.”
One of the first things that Artemis Kaiser bought with her wrestling money was a work shed. A hobby of hers became woodworking, mostly because what else could she do out in the dead, cold North? The young woman wasn’t fond of hunting or fishing. Hiking grew repetitive, and she only did it for exercise. Many of her works littered the interior, ranging from simple, little shapes to elaborate figurines. Artemis stood near a bench, putting on layers of winter wear.
“Why are you here, Artemis Kaiser?”
Artemis pulled over a coat, the kind with the fuzzy collar. She grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around her neck. Pulling the fabric down from over her mouth, Artemis let out a visible huff of air.
“I’m retired, right? There’s no reason for me to step back into the wrestling world. I run a school now, where I’m training the next generation. I have kids. I’m due to get married at any time now. I’m even allowing myself to laugh at some of the stupid jokes that people put out.”
She paused.
“If anyone asked me if I’m the same monster,” Artemis narrowed her eyes, her mind producing the image of her brutal history before her, “I don’t think I could answer that honestly.”
She nodded, dissuading the thought.
“I think it’s appropriate to clear the air on a certain controversy. I know that there may be eyes looking at me and questioning the honesty of my statements a year ago,” Artemis stated, stretching her arm over her chest.
“Let’s go back a short while ago, back when I told the world that my match against Katie Hanley in IYHWF was going to be my last. I held a tiny girl in my arms and introduced her to the world. I unveiled a bit of who I really was, and it shocked the world, I’d believe. My proclamation that it was my last match rang true to the IYHWF audience, but there had been many times when I returned to the ring since then. Though they weren’t the purpose of chasing glory,” Artemis rubbed the inside corner of her eye. “No, it was because I wanted to tie up some loose ends, leave nothing that can spark conversation.”
“I wanted to be done with the business.”
Artemis let out a barely audible, humorless sound--it was meant to resemble a laugh.
“When I sat in my favorite chair in my secluded manor, I watched the world move past me. I saw federations rise and fall. I saw new stars work through the motions that I did. Of course, it only made me think about how unaware I was of time passing. When I was competing, were there people like me sitting around, realizing how fast the world moves past them?”
Artemis Kaiser slid on some crimson-colored gloves. She fastened them enough to make her wrists change color. Flexing her fingers, Artemis appeared comfortable with the fabric. She reached over and picked up a shovel and walked outside in the cold, open air. The wind whipped up her hair, and she squinted at the harsh light refracting off the snowy ground. She began her trek through the wilderness.
“Why are you here, Artemis Kaiser?”
She shook her head, chuckling.
“I could say that it’s because of Anastasia Hayden. She and I have been addicted to the dreams of us fighting, and I can say that her inviting me to any fight has tantalized me for too long. We kept flirting with the idea,” Artemis hid a smile from the camera. “Perhaps we’re in love, but it’s definitely not conventional. It’s the same feeling you get when you look across the dance floor and see that one person that lights up your world--except Ana and I want to beat each other up until they’re nothing of us left.”
Artemis drew in a long breath, it was shaky, anticipating. She let it out with another giggle. This one was nervous.
“But that’s not the reason why I’m here.”
Continuing through the snow, Artemis had to hike her short legs higher. She looked passively annoyed by her genetic disadvantage, but she made due.
“No, Anastasia and I have wanted to fight for ages, but if I was to solely establish her as my motivation, then I would disrespect everyone else in this match. Even if I wanted to do that, I know that it’s a stupid move,” Artemis gave a side glance to the camera. “It’s a rookie mistake. There’s no need to disregard those people with dreams. There’s no reason to make yourself a target, well, more than I am now.”
“Why am I here? Maybe it’s because I like attention. I know that a good chunk of the people in this match will look at me as a feast worthy of kings. Being able to touch me, to hurt me, or to put me out? That’s an achievement to collect. I can smell it in the younger people in this match. I can visualize their eyes looking at me like wolves do to their prey. I can hear the saliva dripping from their maw because they’re getting a shot to put me out permanently. I know the look, because I had the same look for the longest time, even in the twilight of my career.”
“There’s the possibility that it’s because of the 4CW faithful hanging onto Union now. I was fascinated to hear that Bryan Williams had clawed his way to the top of this mountain. I was joyful to hear that I’ll finally share a ring with American Tommy and Chris Madison. Yet, these were not factors that crept up when I signed my name on the dotted line,” Artemis shrugged. “I’m sorry to say that it isn’t because I sought out opponents. If I wanted to fight anyone in this match, why would I do it in this match? Why not call them out for a one-on-one affair? Why wouldn’t I just make it a personal endeavor?”
Artemis had struggled long enough and made her way past the mound of snow that she saw as a mountain. She let out an exasperated sigh and clicked her boots against one another to clear some of the excess snow. Furthermore, she rested on her shovel and looked out towards the horizon.
“There’s always the Union Battleground Championship. To me, it’s the most coveted championship in the business today. I cannot lie and say that the chance isn’t appetizing. If I survive this match--” Artemis froze up, her eyes vacantly staring out. She lost words, unable to stop them from fading entirely. Straightening up, Artemis narrowed her eyes.
“No.”
“No, I don’t think that’s right.”
“I don’t survive anything.”
Artemis cleared her throat suddenly. Eyebrows lowered, indicative of the passive anger beginning to well inside of Artemis. Shaking the thought away, she pressed on. Despite walking through a thicker part of the forest, Artemis didn’t seem lost. Soon, she came upon a clearing and took a deep breath. The camera panned around her to see a single image.
There was a grave.
“I don’t think anyone would refuse a championship opportunity. That’s a way to make history and make sure no one will ever forget who you are. Legends are made off the back of these kinds of matches. Guerrilla Warfare may be a grueling experience, but those who have won have only been successful after that. Nemesis, Alyssa Daniels, Dakota Smith. They’re worthy of the notoriety they get from taking a piece of history for themselves. Maybe I want some of that too. I have a lot of it on my resume, but maybe I’m hungry.”
Artemis walked towards the grave. The marker of it didn’t bear a name. Artemis looked at it longingly and tilted her head at it.
“Alas, the spoils of war isn’t what brought me. If I win this match, then I’ll have answered the question for everyone.”
“Why am I here?”
Repeating the same question again, this time to herself, Artemis plunged the shovel into the snow.
“That’s the main question, but there are many others that plague me each day we get closer to the match itself. I can hear my critics asking them in my head, and it makes me sick.”
Artemis’s passive expression began to dissolve. Wrinkles on her brow and cheeks began to harden.
“I am not the same monster that I used to be,” Artemis said, coldly. “I can admit that, but there’s a narrative hanging over my head that I don’t enjoy.”
“Whenever a retired competitor decides to lace up the boots, as they say,” Artemis hissed, “there always arises the question of if they’re able to compete on the same level as before. For me, it’s not just a question. It’s my existence. People are wondering if I’m still the same monster that terrorized the sport. They don’t recognize that it hadn’t been that long since I decided to step away. My last match wasn’t even a full year ago.”
“Truly, I have to say that the reason why I’m in Guerrilla Warfare is to fulfill a need that just won’t go away.”
Artemis threw the first heap of dirt and snow over her shoulder.
“There’s an idea of a harmless Artemis Kaiser, reduced to a joke. I decided to be sweet with my students and the people around me, but that doesn’t make me weak. But when I’m in the gym, telling my students where they’ve messed up, I can’t help but grind my teeth. When I’m watching people worse than me raise championships above their head, I get headaches. The world kept going without me, but I was beginning to worry if it forgot me.”
“I’m never going to be forgotten.”
“I’m not the same monster. I’m worse. For every moment that I had to play nice, I waited for the chance to lay waste like I had before. I watched my old matches and grew envious of the girl on the screen. She was younger but ferocious. Now, I’m stepping back into the world I left, and the only thing I have is malice. It has been honed to a sharp edge.”
Artemis had taken away a healthy chunk of the earth and made it a pile behind her. She stopped to stare inside the hole she made. She lowered herself to the ground and pulled out the contents. She purposefully hid it from the camera’s view.
“I have been patient. I have been merciful. I have been human.”
“I don’t think anyone in this match will be unwise enough to disregard my talents and my particular fixation on destruction. No one will deny that I can come back and win this match. It may return things to the status quo. Artemis Kaiser winning big. It’s not necessarily an uncommon thing to hear in the news,” Artemis warranted a laugh, an honest one, derived from the hateful places in her heart. “I know it’ll make Anastasia happy to hear that I’m much more dangerous than I was before.”
Artemis revealed what she had taken from the grave. It was a small coffin, one that a person could hold in her hands. Inside were pictures from her career’s highest points, ranging from her first-ever championship win to her winning the 4CW Championship in Warzone of Horrors.
“When I left, I put these away to symbolize leaving the sport behind,” amid her anger, Artemis allowed herself a smile. “I dug these up to remind myself of what I was capable of doing back then.”
Without any warning, Artemis tore the pictures up, one-by-one.
“Memories fade. They’re worth hanging onto until you start to get addicted to the illusion. I don’t have time for that.”
When she was done, Artemis began to dig again. She kept it until she was able to stand inside of the grave. Scoping around, she seemed satisfied with her work. She crawled out and walked out of the range of the camera. When she returned, Artemis dragged a body bag behind her. The video glitched, and the weight of the bag had been replaced with something clearly lighter.
“This is one match, one possibility.”
Artemis hurled the body bag into the empty grave.
Covering the grave in snow and dirt, Artemis’s grin grew more malicious. When she was done, she planted the shovel next to herself and leaned on it--a job well done.
“It’s not like it ever left.”
